


LUCY PEVENSIE IS A LESBIAN

by wombatpop



Series: Pride Month 2018 [4]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies), Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types
Genre: Book/Movie: The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, F/F, Internalized Homophobia, Period-Typical Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-21 09:40:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14912975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wombatpop/pseuds/wombatpop
Summary: She hears it, the whispers, the murmured slurs and hushed smears, their voices like serrated knives, bile in the vowels and poison in the consonants. It’s a disgrace; it’s repulsive; it’s dangerous. It’s not human. Good girls like Lucy Pevensie don’t do things like that. They can’t. Or what do they have left?deliverance- accompanying playlist





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> more playlists and fics on [my tumblr](http://wombat-pop.tumblr.com) \- send me a message!

Lucy squirms in front of the mirror and sighs. Edmund calls from downstairs, but she doesn’t move immediately, inspecting her own image with discontent. 

Edmund calls again, more urgently this time, and she finally moves to join him. It’s just grocery shopping after all, anxiety unnecessary. There seemed to be a lot of that lately.

The sun seems to bounce off Lucy’s skin, she can’t feel it like she used to. Perhaps it’s because she’s older now, maturity hidden within a youth not quite honest, but she can’t seem to recognise her own reflection any more. Edmund tries to sign up for war again and Lucy feels her skin crawling. She can’t look the girls at the register in the eye; she can’t see their smiles. She can’t see reason in Edmund’s rush to war any more than she can in her own rush to invisibility. Maybe they’re two sides of the same coin; tripping over themselves in their haste to prove themselves. No thought for the consequences.

She’d always hated living in Susan’s shadow, but now it feels more like a sunshade. Light seems too harsh now; to uncover answers is to destroy everything. If she can just hide herself some more, no one will see what she so desperately denies. She observes other girls, like a science experiment, taking mental notes. Tuck hair behind ear. Avert eyes. Laugh delicately at jokes. Smile at men, but not too much. Don’t do too much; they want you anyway. Her body revolts against her, numb and clumsy, like there’s no circulation, like she’s some kind of terrible puppeteer with a disgusting puppet, and she wishes she could shed her skin, dispose of this body that’s too tight across the chest.

She hears it, the whispers, the murmured slurs and hushed smears, their voices like serrated knives, bile in the vowels and poison in the consonants. It’s a disgrace; it’s repulsive; it’s dangerous. It’s not human. Good girls like Lucy Pevensie don’t do things like that. They can’t. Or what do they have left?


	2. Chapter 2

Narnia seems less of a saviour when she’s trapped within herself. She squints against the sun reflecting in the waves and she forces herself to breathe. She has friends here. Although it is a land greatly changed, she has a belonging in Narnia that England can never provide. So she tries to smile, and she laughs at Eustace’s discomfort, although she could be laughing at herself. 

It feels good to have a purpose, to be using her body for real things, not just hiding it away and hoping she’s doing a good job at not existing. She can’t shake the shame that follows her like a dull cloud, but at least when she’s fighting and moving it feels a little more distant.

-

When she reads the spell that makes the unseen seen, she almost expects to look different, have some kind of revelation, indication of her inner turmoil. But nothing changes. She should perhaps feel comforted, but she’s a little disappointed. And a little relieved.

She saves the beauty spell, although she’s not sure she’ll use it, but the temptation is too much once night falls and it’s just her and the fireplace, Gael sleeping soundly beside her. The ship writhes within the carnage surrounding, thunder and violent water, and her bones stretch as she holds herself together. She hates so deeply she feels as though she may never recover, muscles sliced from bone and skin torn from flesh with a brutality almost inhuman. Susan’s letters sounded so glamorous; in America, desired by military men, attending parties. Lucy’s sure Susan’s delicate giggle is perfected by now. The magician warned of the importance of strength, but Lucy’s so tired of being strong. Surely she can’t be faulted for wanting a little relief.

She reads the inscription.  
And the world stills.

Warm, gentle sunlight flows through the windows, and Lucy approaches the mirror. Her body morphs, nightgown into party dress, and her face becomes different, one familiar but no less alien. Music seeps out from behind the mirror, and she instinctively pushes it, like she knows her way, fate with one hand on the small of her back, urging her forward with the warm encouragement of a mother, or the dishonest concern of a bully.

The world behind the mirror is too highly saturated, too high in volume to be comfortable. She can feel the men, young, handsome men, leering at her and she feels nothing but repulsion for this reality she’d sought so vehemently. 

“Mother will love this, all of her children in one picture.”

Everything is slightly too slow, like a dream, and she can’t escape Edmund and Peter’s arms even as she struggles, desperately. Peter and Edmund grin so widely, the camera snaps so sharply, and she finally speaks, her voice a tone she barely recognises.

“I want to go back.”

“Go back where?” Edmund asks, but it’s not the Edmund she’s used to.

“To Narnia.”

“What on Earth is Narnia?” Edmund replies. Peter says nothing, still smiling, like a wax doll.  
She still can’t free herself from their grasps, panicking even though everyone continues to grin and laugh, and she shuts her eyes tight, like she did when she was a child hiding from imagined monsters, or a child hiding from incoming bombs.

“Stop this!”

When she opens her eyes she’s back in the ship, so still and quiet. Aslan stands beside her, though only in her reflection, and she feels lonelier than she ever thought a human could feel.

“What have you done, child?” Aslan asks, with the firmness and compassion of a practiced leader.

“I don’t know. That was awful.” Lucy stammers, on the verge of tears.

“But you chose it, Lucy.”

“I didn’t mean to choose all of that. I just wanted to be beautiful, like Susan. That’s all.” A tear makes its way down Lucy’s cheek.

“You wished yourself away, and with it, much more. Your brothers and sister wouldn’t know Narnia without you, Lucy. You discovered it first, remember?”

“I’m so sorry.”

“You doubt your value. Don’t run from who you are.” Tears run freely along Lucy’s face as Aslan turns away. 

Thunder crashes and Lucy awakes, returned to the heart of the storm. The beauty spell lies unused on her lap. She scrunches it up, anger overflowing into fresh tears and violence. Running to the fire, she tosses the spell in, and she feels satisfied upon hearing Aslan’s roar.


	3. Chapter 3

With petty arguments flourishing within the company, Eustace a dragon, the possibility of evil infiltrating their very minds, and haunted by continuing bad dreams, Lucy tries to keep a clear head. In Gael she sees more than a little of herself; she’s scared, confused, seeking, but she’s determined. Focusing on taking Gael under her wing, as well as contributing to their quest, helps to keep her busy, less likely to be left alone to her own thoughts. 

“I miss my mummy.” Gael blurts one evening, as they lie on the beach of some unnamed island in the middle of an unforgiving ocean.

“I miss mine too.” Lucy replies, and tries not to think about how incredibly long it has been since she last saw her mother. “Don’t worry, you’ll see her again.”

“How do you know?” Gael asks. 

“You just have to have faith about these things. Aslan will help us.” It sounds rehearsed. She’s said it a thousand times before.

“But Aslan couldn’t stop her from being taken.”

“We’ll find her. I promise.” Lucy can see Gael can’t quite believe her, and she understands why. “Somehow.”

Even though she’s sugar coating the situation for Gael, she believes what she is saying is true, at least to a degree. Aslan’s always helped before, even if it’s not in the same way or the most obvious or seemingly logical way. He’s always there. And after what he said, or what she dreamt he said, she knows she’s in safe hands, somewhere. 

She can hear Reepicheep murmuring to Eustace, comforting him in the way only Reepicheep could.  
“Extraordinary things only happen to extraordinary people. Maybe it’s a sign; that you’ve got an extraordinary destiny, something greater than you could’ve imagined?”

Reepicheep pauses, and Eustace says nothing, and in the silence Lucy looks up to the stars, a billion unfamiliar worlds in unfamiliar patterns, and stops resisting what she’s known for years but pushed down so viciously. A deep exhale leaves Lucy’s chest, but there are no tears now. Aslan’s words echo in her mind, and somewhere inside a tension breaks.   
There isn’t much else she can do, but trust, or struggle.  
And she’s done with fighting.

 

Reepicheep begins to regale Eustace with tales of his exploits, and Lucy falls to sleep, gently, sleeping soundly without nightmares.

The following morning, an excited Gael wakes her.

“Look!”

“The blue star! Everybody, wake up! It’s the blue star!”

The company is filled with a renewed optimism and energy, and for Lucy, a chain has cracked which cannot be reforged. She sits on the balcony at the rear of the boat and waves at the sea nymph with genuine, undistracted joy.  
It is only after a few seconds that she realises the nymph is not waving back, but gesturing wildly, seemingly begging the company not to continue their course. Her face is so desperately beseeching that it gives Lucy goose bumps.


	4. Chapter 4

The air on Ramandu’s island seems thicker, somehow, and the group moves with a compelled slowness, wading through dense jungle, the echoing sounds of wildlife, and almost impermeable darkness.

They reach a long table, laden with food of colours and textures Lucy had never seen. She almost thinks to reach out and touch, before Edmund starts, calling the group’s attention to three indistinct figures at the end of the table.

Swords are drawn, and Edmund and Caspian approach the figures, Lucy close behind.

“Lord Revillian.” Caspian states, pointing to the Lord’s ring.   
“Lord Mavramorn.”

Lucy moves the final man’s hair out of his eyes. “Lord Argoz.” Caspian confirms. Already uncomfortable, Lucy snatches her hand back as she senses movement.

“He’s breathing.” Caspian states, astonished.

“So are they… They’re under a spell.”

“Hey, it’s the stone knife. This is Aslan’s table.” Edmund says, and the group hastens to place the Lords’ swords onto the table, first the ones they had already collected, then those still within the suspended Lord’s scabbards.

“That’s six.” Edmund announces as Lucy places the last sword in their possession onto the table, and the swords begin to glow a bright blue, the same blue of the star they followed to the island.

Looking up, Lucy sees that same star floating downwards toward them, the light throwing strange shadows across the company, as well as a strange calm.

As the star reaches the ground, the light intensifies for a split second, and as it fades there is left a woman, beautiful and ethereal like a star may be expected to be, yet still overwhelming in her presence.

“Travellers of Narnia, welcome.” The crew kneels at her voice, and Lucy feels as though she may kneel involuntarily. Her voice is grace and power, warm honey flowing from her tongue into their ears, musical and commanding.

“Arise.” The star says, and all arise obediently. “Are you not hungry?”

“Who are you?” Edmund asks, and Lucy knows he is feeling much the same that she is.

“I am Liliandil, daughter of Ramandu. I am your guide.” She states. As she walks the group follows, closer, magnetised.

“You are a star.” She nods and Caspian moves closer to her.

“You are most beautiful.” He says, his face lit by her radiance, and by the euphoria all must experience in her vicinity.

“If it is a distraction for you, I can change form.”

“No.” “No.” Caspian and Edmund speak at the same time as Lucy does so in her head, and she almost laughs as they exchange looks, her amusement and distraction preventing the acknowledgement of the guilt that lies disgusted in the back of her mind. 

“Please. The food is for you.” Liliandil gestures effortlessly and the candles at the table alight.  
“There is enough for all who are welcome at Aslan’s table. Always. Help yourselves.” At her instruction the crew happily reach for the food, before interrupted by Edmund.

“Wait. What happened to them?” He asks, pointing his flashlight at the frozen Lords.

“These poor men were half mad by the time they reached our shores. They were threatening violence upon each other. Violence is forbidden at the table of Aslan. So they were sent to sleep.”

As Liliandil speaks Lucy feels as though she too is being lulled into a trance, her vision narrowing to only Liliandil’s face, her lips.  
“Will they ever wake?” She asks, and when Liliandil looks her in the eye her heart stops.

“When all is put right.” Lucy’s mouth is vacant of all saliva, and she says nothing in reply, but looks at Liliandil with what must be an expression of pure admiration. If she notices Lucy’s emotion Liliandil is tactful in her lack of acknowledgement, as she leads the monarchs away from the table.

“Come. There is little time.”

-

“The magician Coriakin told you of Dark Island.”

“Yes.”

Across the water lies a small island, with green light and grey fog interwoven and writhing across its surface, a permanent thundering hanging over it.

“Before long the evil will be unstoppable.” 

“Coriakin said to break its spell we lay the seven swords at Aslan’s table.”

“He speaks the truth.”

“But we only found six. Do you know where the seventh is?”

“In there.” Liliandil states, and Lucy thinks she can almost see tears in her eyes.

“You will need great courage.” The sight of the island is horrifying without the thought that it is their next destination, and for the first time since arriving in Narnia, Lucy feels truly homesick.

“Now waste no time.”

“I hope we meet again.” Caspian says, and when Liliandil smiles at him Lucy only feels more miserable.  
But it is Lucy who Liliandil looks to as she says, “goodbye”, transforming back into a star before their very eyes.

Lucy is filled with dread, but Liliandil’s attention and command motivates her to push thoughts of home to the back of her mind as much as she can. With thoughts of Liliandil’s gaze she feels a strength that outweighs the yearning for familiarity, for a different humanity, for humanity at all. She has a bigger battle to face now.


	5. Chapter 5

Apprehension hangs over the company like a thick fog, Eustace’s flapping around the sail reflecting the uneasy fluttering inside everyone’s stomachs.

“So, what do you think is in there?” A crewman asks, a question all thought but none dared to speak, the unsolicited silence filled by Edmund, a tone of anxiety clear despite his best efforts.

“Our worst nightmares.”

“Our darkest wishes.” Caspian utters, and for the first time since she last saw him, years ago, she hears an undertone of real fear in his voice.

“Pure evil.” Drinian‘s authoritative tone of finality concludes the conversation for all; the only words spoken now commands and instruction for the impending encounter.

The monarchs retreat to their chambers to ready themselves.

“When I grow up, I want to be just like you.”   
Gael speaks as Lucy dresses in armour. Her statement makes Lucy feel nauseous, her dread at this ultimate battle not only for herself but at this innocent, drawn into a conflict through no fault of her own, perhaps only by her own determination. Lucy sees herself and Gael in the mirror, a reflection she not so long ago spent so much time cursing, a self she spent so much energy hating, and it seems almost ridiculous that Gael should see respectability in her. To tread a path similar to her own is a fate she would barely wish upon her enemies, let alone Gael. She turns, and forces a smile, as one so often does with children, as Lucy so often does with everyone.

“When you grow up, you should be just like you.” Lucy says, and as Gael embraces her she fights back tears. Pulling away, she leaves Gael alone in their chamber, with promises of safety and salvation. Walking up to the deck, to the sight of Dark Island, with heart rates slowly rising around her, her promises are conspicuously empty.

“No matter what happens here, every soul who stands before me has earned their place on the crew of the Dawn Treader.” Caspian begins.  
“Together we have travelled far. Together we have faced adversity. Together we can do it again.” The company is transfixed by Caspian’s speech, and Lucy, once again, places her emotion aside and attempts the fortitude required of her.

“So now is not the time to fall to fear’s temptation. Be strong. Never give in. Our world… our Narnian lives depend on it. Think of the lost souls we’re here to save. Think of Aslan. Think of Narnia.”

The crew erupts into a passionate cry, “For Narnia!” and Lucy joins with heartfelt enthusiasm. Dark Island looms, but for Narnia, for Aslan, Lucy can do anything. She is Lucy the Valiant, after all.


	6. Chapter 6

As the ship enters Dark Island, an eerie air overtakes the company. It chills to the very bone, but not with cold, with fear, with the visceral pain and terror that accompanies childhood nightmares, most personal horrors and anxieties, the ideas and possibilities that prevent sleep, that make chewed fingernails and bitten pillows, hands against eyes until they ache to avoid witnessing, shivers underneath blankets to avoid touching. A green mist, barely visible to the eye, winds around them, and indistinct murmurs begin to echo, unable to be located or identified.  
Crewmembers begin to exclaim at sights others cannot see, at lost lovers and phobias, insecurities embodied and grief come to life.  
Lucy stands in the centre of the deck and waits for her own vision as those around her start and speak, and she isn’t waiting long. From the deck arises her mother, a perfect likeness although hazy and the colour of lime. She smiles, momentarily, but her face turns to disgust at the sight of Lucy.

“Lucy. My own daughter, betraying my efforts at a prudent upbringing with the repulsive desires of an animal.”

“Why you cannot behave like your siblings is unthinkable. You bring disgrace upon the entire family.”  
Behind her, she can faintly here Edmund calling out.

“I cannot bear to look at you. You are no daughter of mine.” Her mother turns away in utter abhorrence; the most extreme loathing and revulsion communicated in her every action. Lucy stands, disturbed, for a moment before shocked back to reality as Edmund shouts, full volume, behind her.

“Edmund?” Edmund turns to Lucy abruptly, disoriented. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah.” He says, and they hardly have time to exchange looks before a noise sounds in the distance.

The Lord raves and protests, but relinquishes willingly to Caspian once he knows his name.

“Do not think! Do not let it know your fears, or it will become them!” Lord Rhoop warns urgently.

“Oh no.” Edmund blurts, almost before anyone else has a chance to conjure fearful images, with an expression of guilt and dread.

“Edmund, what did you just think of?” Lucy asks, panicking as Edmund apologises, running to the side to look into the water.

The horrific creature writhes and screams, and Lord Rhoop is incapacitated as he, frenzied, tries to remove them from harm. Eustace flies injured and wailing out of the Island, Lucy’s entreaties to return unheard or unheeded.

Lucy sends out a quiet plea, “Aslan, please help us.”  
Overhead, a single seagull emerges within a temporary window of sunlight, a moment of calm within an orb of chaos.

The crew’s muscles strain against the rigid waters of Dark Island, with Reepicheep’s yells contributing to rhythm though not effectiveness. The ship sways, and Caspian struggles to keep hold of the wheel. Lucy readies Susan’s arrows, that figure of yearning and resentment, and takes her opportunity to strike the serpent, the shouts of Edmund ringing in her ears. 

The ship shudders against the impact of the serpent against the rocks, and Edmund falls ungracefully to the deck. Lucy keeps firing, though the impact of Susan’s arrows seems little. Caspian has a plan, and Drinian’s shouting brings all to the main deck once more, a fitting location for what all hope to be the battle’s final moments. Harpoons are fired, and as Lucy pulls the rope with all her strength she knows she believes in Caspian’s judgement, believes in Aslan’s wisdom, in fate’s purpose and her own place in the middle of all of it as much as belief will allow. The crew heaves, and shouts, and sweats, an outpouring of belief and strength and hope into this action that she is contributing to. Looking up, she sees Edmund hesitating, looking into nothing, and prays more than anything that he feels some of that same belief. That whatever evil is tempting him with isn’t more that his own fortitude, his own trust in himself. She shuts her eyes and pulls, and she hears some of the other ropes break, but hers stays taut. Caspian screams, Edmund’s sword glows, and finally she sees in Edmund what she has been praying for.

“Come on!” He calls out to the serpent, not with the intention or expectation of sacrifice, but with the belief and the strength to know that he has the power to overcome it. Edmund’s sword hits the serpent, and a terrible scream erupts from the Island.  
When it subsides, there is light.

“The spell, it’s lifting.” Lucy exclaims in delight, as all darkness and evil disintegrates around them. 

“Narnians!” The crew cries out and applauds as an abundance of boats, filled with people, appears out of the fog. At the sight of her mother Gael jumps into the water with abandon, Gael and her father embracing Gael’s mother with fierce emotion. Lucy watches her go with joy, and with a bittersweet sense of loss. Her own mother seems so distant, now, and she will likely never see Gael again. Knowing the vision of her mother was just a vision, borne only of her own mind, did little to soften the words said to her. Edmund squeezes her hand and smiles, a warm, content smile, and Lucy can’t help but reciprocate.  
That evil is vanquished now.

“We did it. I always knew we would.”

“It wasn’t just us, though.”

Eustace calls from the water, greeted by an elated Reepicheep, who promptly leaps into the water with him.

“Where sky and water meet, where the waves go ever sweet…” Reepicheep sings, as he often does, but pauses to taste the water. “It is sweet. It’s sweet!” He exclaims, and the company looks to the horizon.

“Aslan’s country. We must be close.” Caspian concludes.

“Well, we’ve come this far.”


	7. Chapter 7

“So what was it like, when Aslan changed you back?”

Their boat glides easily through the water, crisp white flowers moving gently out of their path, unaffected.

“No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t do it myself. Then he came towards me. It sort of hurt, but it was a good pain. Like when you pull a thorn from your foot.”

Caspian and Edmund row contentedly, but when Lucy asks to replace Caspian he agrees. The water feels thinner, kinder somehow, accommodating their oars, pushing them onwards.

“It wasn’t all bad being a dragon.” Eustace continues. “I mean, I think I was a better dragon than I was a boy, really. I’m so sorry for being such a sop.”

Lucy and Edmund exchange surprised and relieved smiles at Eustace’s change.

“It’s okay Eustace. You were a pretty good dragon.”

“My friends, we have arrived.” Reepicheep announces, and Edmund and Lucy turn to look. A beach grows closer, perfect unmarked sand, lined by a towering wave, forever breaking.  
They walk toward the wave, in wonder and expectation, halfway before Eustace speaks.

“Aslan!”

“Welcome children. You have done well. Very well indeed. You have come far, and now your journey is at its end.”

“Is this your country?” Lucy asks.

“No, my country lies beyond.” Aslan answers, looking to the crest of the wave, where the tips of lush mountains can be glimpsed.

“Is my father in your country?”

“You can only find that out for yourself, my son. But you should know that if you continue, there is no return.” Aslan replies, and Caspian walks toward the wave.   
Running his finger through the water rushing upwards, Lucy and Edmund exchange concerned looks, worried that Caspian would leave Narnia for his father, worried that Caspian would leave his father for Narnia; both choices unbearable.  
Caspian turns, tearful, and Edmund speaks.

“You’re not going?”

“I can’t imagine my father would be very proud that I gave up what he died for. I’ve spent too long wanting what was taken from me and not what was given.”  
He turns to Aslan.

“I promise to be a better king.”

“You already are.” 

Lucy turns to Aslan, expectant of a continuing journey.  
“I think it’s time we went home, actually, Lu.” Edmund says, and Lucy’s stomach drops at the thought.

“But I thought you loved it here.”

“I do. But I love home, and our family. They need us.”  
She knows Edmund is right, and in seeing his own emotion build she can see he does not take the decision to leave lightly.

Reepicheep clears his throat, presenting himself to Aslan with a deep bow.

“Your Eminence. Ever since I can remember I have dreamt of seeing your country. I have had many great adventures in this country but nothing has dampened that yearning. I know I am hardly worthy but, with your permission, I would lay down my sword for the joy of seeing your country with my own eyes.”

“My country was made for noble hearts such as yours, no matter how small their bearers be.”

“Your Majesty.” Reepicheep bows again, beaming, his sunlit expression contrasting with Lucy’s quickly heavying heart.

“No one could be more deserving.” Caspian states, and Reepicheep continues to attempt humility.

“Well I-” He protests, and Edmund interrupts.

“It’s true.” Edmund bows, an infrequent bow from the High King of Narnia, and Reepicheep returns in kind.

Lucy manages to achieve a rare embrace, and Eustace begins to blubber. As Reepicheep makes his way toward the wave, a rowboat, just Reepicheep-sized, appears. He discards his sword, and rows happily up the wave, carried over the crest with satisfaction and dignity, a fitting conclusion to Reepicheep’s prolific Narnian life. Lucy sighs, anticipating her own approaching departure as one with far less satisfaction, dignity, and willingness.

“This is our last time here, isn’t it?” Lucy asks, and as she speaks new tears arise.

“Yes. You have grown up, my dear one. Just like Peter and Susan.”

“Will you visit us in our world?”

“I shall be watching you, always.”

“How?” She questions Aslan, not with genuine opposition, but with the hope that if she keeps talking, maybe she won’t have to go.

“In your world, I have another name. You must learn to know me by it. That was the very reason you were brought to Narnia. That by knowing me here for a little, you may know me better there.”

“Will we meet again?” 

“Yes, dear one. One day.”

Aslan finally roars, and the wave divides, Lucy’s hope of avoiding her own world disappearing with it.

Caspian gives a sentimental farewell, and Lucy accepts her fate. Narnia could never be her final destination. Although it once was, much has changed, and the present Narnia has no place for the Pevensies.

Edmund, Eustace, and Lucy step into the wave, water rushing around them, and look back to Narnia. Aslan and Caspian stand, blurring, and the wave twists in on itself, enveloping the trio in ocean once more. As they swim toward the light, furniture begins to appear, until finally they are in England once again, the final traces of Narnia’s ocean seeping behind the painting Lucy remarked upon what seemed like a lifetime ago. 

Edmund breathes heavily, and Lucy knows he is trying not to cry again. Tears in Narnia seem different to tears in England, as everything does.

Although her heart remains heavy, Lucy feels as if several tonnes had been lifted off her shoulders. She can breathe freely, her body no longer tight around the chest. Narnia changed her, as it must. 

She’s heard it, the whispers, the murmured slurs and hushed smears, their voices like serrated knives, bile in the vowels and poison in the consonants. It’s a disgrace; it’s repulsive; it’s dangerous. It’s not human. Good girls like Lucy Pevensie don’t do things like that. They can’t. But Lucy has so much more than goodness. 

She has strength, resilience, the memories of more than one lifetime and the wisdom to match. She’s ridden over mountains that speak; swum oceans that cradle with gentleness and care, defeated evil and brought down dictators. She’s saved lives and taken them, with the grace and justice of a true leader. Eustace rehangs the painting, Aunt Alberta calls, the room is emptied, and the trio return to England. But Lucy never leaves Narnia, not fully. She brings back hope; she brings back power, knowledge and faith and the unforgiving determination she’s always had.

Her attempts at girlhood, at humanity, seem so distant now.

She can’t shout it, not without risk. But she can whisper it to herself; hold it close to her own heart with hope.

Lucy Pevensie is a lesbian, she’s a leader, a lover, a fighter, a sister, a queen, beautiful and powerful and enough.

Lucy Pevensie is a lesbian, and she is victorious.


End file.
